Every Day Quotes August
by MissJayne
Summary: A series of oneshots and drabbles about our favourite characters. One quote per day.
1. Aug 1

Every Day Quotes: August

_**Aug 1  
**_No one is ready for a thing until he believes he can acquire it.  
**Napoleon Hill**, _Think and Grow Rich_

Ducky sat in Autopsy, not hearing the persistent hum of the freezers at the back any more. He had worked for far too long in far too many autopsy suites to notice it. He suspected young Timothy no longer consciously heard the hum of his computer for exactly the same reason.

He had no guests today. Except Admiral Cook, who had dropped dead of an apparent heart attack at a state function, and thus had required an autopsy in case any of the other guests were at risk. Abigail's toxicological report would calm many nerves he suspected. There was no hint of any poison.

And so he sat and waited on his own, with no guests to regale with tales of his youth or his adventures overseas. There was no point in visiting Abigail; while she would welcome his visit with open arms and spoil him rotten, she needed to focus on her work for the moment, and he was expected down here anyway. Disappearing would only throw a spanner into the works.

Finally, the automatic doors swished open and Mr. Palmer came rushing in.

"Ninety seven percent, doctor!" he beamed.

"Excellent." Ducky patted his back in delight. "I think this calls for a celebration. How about I take you out to dinner tonight for such a fantastic result in your exams?"


	2. Aug 2

_**Aug 2  
**_Judgment, not passion should prevail.  
**Epicharmus**

"I know it was you who reversed into my car this morning in the parking garage. You're lucky it wasn't my official one, or my protection detail would have shot you on the spot!"

"No they wouldn't."

"No, you're right. They would have brought you down and then delivered your bleeding body to my office so I could finish the job."

"Why'd you think it was me?"

"Who else is going to leave yellow paint flecks on my car? And before you tell me about Agent Yates having that yellow SUV, I checked your car and found a matching dent."

"Well jeez, Jen, if you have a tiny car, I might not see it when I'm driving."

"You can still snipe but you can't see my car directly behind you?"

"That's different."

"How?"

"What makes you think I was driving?"

"Since when did you become a lawyer? You don't let anyone else touch your car. And you admitted to it."

"Nah, I said sometimes I don't see it, not that I'd actually driven into it."

"Rule Seven – you weren't specific. Breaking your Rules in your old age?"

"Hey! Age has nothing to do with it."

"Then how else do you explain your failing eyesight and hitting my car?"

"Get a bigger car!"

"Are you honestly suggesting the entire world buys bigger cars so you can see them?"

"You parked in my space – I didn't see it!"

"How is it _your_ space? It's _my _parking garage."

"Poh-_tay_-to, poh-_tah-_to."

"Shut up."

"Or what?"

"I'll make you attend SecNav's daughter's wedding next week. In a tux."

"…"

"That's better."


	3. Aug 3

_**Aug 3  
**_I take a simple view of life: keep your eyes open and get on with it.  
**Sir Laurence Olivier**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs strolled into the squad room, omnipresent cup of fresh coffee welded to his hand. It had taken longer than usual to locate a decent caffeine dealer, mainly due to the hour. His usual supplier was no longer open at zero four hundred.

Bastard.

His team had been working all night long; he had kept their noses to the grindstone as they tried to work out who would want to kill a convicted killer. Not the family of the original victim – they had all passed away before he was released from prison a mere two days before his demise. McGee was looking into various financial accounts, while Tony and Ziva were tasked with searching the prison records for a motive.

He wandered into the bull pen, smiling as he noticed his team had all fallen asleep. McGee's head was on his keyboard; Gibbs didn't want to think about the mess that would cause to the young agent's work. Ziva was leaning back on her chair, various folders balanced precariously on her lap, while Tony had his head on his desk and was filling the squad room with his snores.

They looked so peaceful and young that it seemed a shame to wake them. But the sooner they found what they were looking for, the sooner they could sleep in proper beds.

"HEY!"


	4. Aug 4

_**Aug 4  
**_Often we don't even realize who we're meant to be because we're so busy trying to live out someone else's ideas. But other people and their opinions hold no power in defining our destiny.  
**Oprah Winfrey (1954 - )**, _O Magazine, November 2009_

For the first part of her life, Ziva David had been exactly what she was supposed to be. She had obeyed her parents, especially her father. She had listened to her elders and carried out their wishes. She had stayed firmly within the lines of what was expected of her. She had been the perfect obedient soldier.

It had been Ari who had kicked her out of this rut. What use is the perfect soldier, he had argued, if you cannot think for yourself. What if something happens in the field and you need to make a fast judgment?

So she had begun to think. She had begun to allow herself the dangerous thoughts that were not permitted in her life. Why did she do the things she did? What made her different from the people she was fighting, other than the ideals they professed? Why did she fight? Why did she obey her father's every whim?

It had been difficult, she would never deny that. But the first major step she had taken on her own was to leave her country behind her, leave her father and his now defunct family behind her, and try to make a new life for herself in a new country. In America, she could be whoever _she_ wanted to be and not live out someone else's plan.


	5. Aug 5

_**Aug 5  
**_What's in a name? That which we call a rose  
By any other name would smell as sweet.  
**William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)**, _"Romeo and Juliet", Act 2 scene 2_

Timothy McGee stepped off the elevator on the floor for Abby's lab and winced as the so-called music assaulted his eardrums.

If it wasn't for the object he held tightly in one hand and he was determined to keep out of Tony's sight, he would have climbed back into the metal cage and refused to return until he found some earplugs or Gibbs discovered the noise. He was going to have one hell of a headache later, but hopefully it would be worth it.

"Abby!" he called as loud as possible as he walked into the lab, not wanting to surprise her but also wanting to be heard over the music.

She was in the Ballistic lab, ear protectors on. He had a horrible feeling she could still hear the music through them.

"Abby!" he called again, this time determined not to surprise someone who had a gun in their hands. He knew the Goth would never even dream of hurting someone on purpose, but she wasn't as experienced with guns as agents were and he didn't want to risk an accident.

She finally noticed him, a smile lighting up her face. Pulling the ear protectors off, she opened the door, turned her music down with the remote and beamed at him.

"Timmy! Is that rose for me? How sweet!"


	6. Aug 6

_**Aug 6  
**_If a person is determined to fight to the death, then they may very well have that opportunity.  
**Donald H. Rumsfeld (1932 - )**, _on Iraqi Resistance Fighters_

"Chick fight!"

Tony made sure his yell was loud enough for all the males in the vicinity to be alerted to the amazing fight by the back stairwell. Ziva had finally snapped after Molly from Legal had put her foot down and insisted Ziva hand over the reports today rather than next week.

He decided to forget about Molly granting him an extension after he'd agreed to go on a date with her in front of his partner, and the subsequent make-out session in the back stairwell that no one ever used that Ziva might have walked in on.

He wasn't sure who would win this. Sure, Ziva was his little ninja, but Molly had black belts in karate and judo, and they both appeared to be fighting to the death. Where was his camera phone? He needed to record this…

And possibly distribute it around the Navy Yard.

He winced as Molly got a good grip on Ziva's hair and pulled. Oh, this was getting nasty. He wasn't entirely sure who he was supporting, but Ziva bit Molly's arm and wiggled free in the confusion.

Someone shoved him to one side and he opened his mouth to protest, until he saw it was Gibbs and promptly shut his mouth again. The only thing better than watching a chick fight was watching Gibbs break one up.


	7. Aug 7

_**Aug 7  
**_Admit that your own private Mount Everest exists. That is half the battle.  
**Hugh Macleod**, _How To Be Creative: 9, 08-22-04_

Jimmy Palmer was a worrier. He had been for as long as he could remember. Whether it was worrying about his many allergies, worrying about whether he would get lost, worrying about whether he would arrive somewhere on time, worrying about making a good impression, or whatever else he worried about, it was rare that he wasn't working himself up into a state.

His most persistent worry of the last few years had been a worry that he would never make it through medical school, that he would never become a doctor. Despite working in the Navy Yard under a very prestigious medical examiner, part of him worried that it was all a mistake and he wasn't good enough, and that some day soon they would realize their error and get rid of him.

Ducky had understood his concerns. It had surprised him at first, until his mentor had pointed out that becoming a doctor _was_ an uphill struggle, but he would not have been accepted unless someone somewhere _believed_ he could do it. Ducky had promised that while he was not the person who had made that earlier decision, he believed in him now and he would provide him with encouragement and faith whenever he required it.

And so they soldiered on in their little battleground for the dead, both filled with faith for the other.


	8. Aug 8

_**Aug 8  
**_The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can ever end.  
**Benjamin Disraeli (1804 - 1881)**

Jennifer Shepard stood on the catwalk, wondering why she had ever made the biggest mistake of her life.

Leaving Gibbs in Paris had certainly been a mistake, no matter how much she had tried to rationalize it at the time. She had been full of love and passion, and had firmly believed it would never end.

But she had told herself she needed to move on, that she would fall in love with someone else. That Gibbs would never allow her to further her career while she was with him, either personally or professionally. He would want her to stay in the field, or give up her career for him, to follow him around the world as he courageously fought crime single-handedly.

Chauvinist.

She missed him, more than she could ever say. She knew exactly how he felt about apologies and was not stupid enough to try to offer one to him. She wanted to tell him where he could stick his precious Rule Six, but she didn't think she'd live too long. She wanted to wipe the slate clean between them and start again.

But they were both too stubborn for that. Too mulish and set in their ways. It would never work.

And so she stood on the catwalk and settled for simply watching him.


	9. Aug 9

_**Aug 9  
**_The believer is happy, the doubter is wise.  
**Irish Proverb**

Abby Scuito knew better than anyone that some of her results depended more on the interpretation put on them than the actual science.

Any of her toxicology reports would suffice to prove it. While she could happily prove that an individual was over the blood alcohol limit, or point to the presence of illegal substances within their body, what she could _not_ do was say with certainty the effect this had on someone. There were too many factors at play. Body size, body type, sex, the individual elimination rate for that person, whether they had consumed alcohol on an empty or full stomach…

"So he was drunk?" Tony asked, settled in her chair and making himself at home.

"Corporal Moore?" she checked. Too many samples for too many suspects for too many cases lead to a confused Abby.

Tony simply nodded enthusiastically. "When he killed his wife. Was he drunk?"

She shrugged. "Strictly speaking, he was too intoxicated to drive, but I cannot tell you if he was drunk."

"Abs, he either was or wasn't."

"I can only say he was too intoxicated to drive; I can't say what effect the alcohol would have had on him."

"Why can't you just accept it. He was drunk!"

"The science doesn't say that, so nah." She stuck her tongue out at him, giggling at the shock written all over his face. He hadn't been expecting her to do _that_.


	10. Aug 10

_**Aug 10  
**_The things that make us safest from others make us least from ourselves.  
**Danah Boyd**, _apophenia, 01-08-07_

Timothy McGee continued to search the room carefully, ignoring Tony's insults to his intelligence. The blood spatter on the walls was not where it should be, and however much Tony tried to argue that spatter was not an exact science and it could simply be because they thought Colonel Stevenson was fighting back, it still didn't match up.

Ziva was wisely staying out of the argument, while Gibbs was off somewhere flirting… _interviewing_ the redheaded sister-in-law who had discovered the mortal remains. Which unfortunately gave Tony free reign to harass Tim.

"You're seeing things," Tony whined. "You're hallucinating."

Tim knew better than to reply. Giving Tony anything meant he would never shut up.

"You don't have as many years' experience as me in reading crime scenes," Tony continued. "I am telling you, spatter is inexact and confusing, especially for Probies. And even more so for Probies who think they know better than their Senior Field Agent."

There was a subtle mark along the wall, almost unnoticeable unless someone's nose was practically pressed to it…

"There's nothing here. You're wasting your time and mine. Go and rescue Gibbs from the clutches of that redhead downstairs –"

_WHACK_

"Thank you, Boss."

"Boss?" Tim started. "There's a panic room here, and it was open when the fight began."


	11. Aug 11

_**Aug 11  
**_When I pass, speak freely of my shortcomings and my flaws. Learn from them, for I'll have no ego to injure.  
**Aaron McGruder**, _Boondocks, 07-04-04_

Ducky sighed as he examined Private Meisner. Oh, what a woeful tale.

"Did your wife know you were cheating on her?" he asked his guest. "It's okay if you wish to tell me; it's only us here. Mr. Palmer disappeared to Legal over an hour ago and I have no idea what's taking him so long. He only had to deliver a file to Agent Lee. But why don't you tell me some of your secrets, eh?"

He reached for his scalpel.

"Perhaps your wife truly didn't know, but I don't see anything about you that would be so attractive to your three girlfriends. Maybe it was for your mental intellect rather than your body. I suspect your wife tried to put you on a diet, or at least harassed you about it. It's such a shame that society can dictate whether you are beautiful or not based on something as silly as weight."

He prodded a mole suspiciously, before deciding it was probably benign, but making a mental note to check to see whether he had seen his doctor.

"Perhaps there was something that irresistibly drew the ladies to you, like our Anthony upstairs. It's a pity I couldn't ask you these questions while you were alive; I'm sure you were a fascinating man."

He began to make the Y-incision, chatting away all the time. There was nothing like a guest to make him content.


	12. Aug 12

_**Aug 12  
**_Modesty is a shining light; it prepares the mind to receive knowledge, and the heart for truth.  
**Madam Guizot**

Tony DiNozzo loved flashlights. There were so many things he could do with them and they were so bright!

NCIS flashlights were always more fun than the ones he could find anywhere for a buck. There were strong (as he'd proved when he'd accidently dropped one on Ziva's foot and she had chased him around the Navy Yard for an hour), waterproof (as proven when he'd knocked Probie into that lake and the flashlight had worked afterward), and lasted for hours (he and Abby had used some for the secret annual NCIS disco).

Now he was testing the brightness. The crime scene was boring – all so straightforward today, nothing odd about it, suspect already in custody, five witnesses, all priests leaving a coffee shop after their monthly meeting, and plenty of evidence that had now been collected. They were waiting for Gibbs to tell them to go, which would be a while if he could ever pry himself away from the redheaded reporter from Channel Five.

He shone the light in McGee's eyes, not stupid enough to mess with Ziva tonight after he had already mentioned out loud just how good her butt looked in those jeans. The Probie yelped.

"Baby," Tony told him.

Ziva hit his arm.

"What?" he protested. "I'm just testing it."

"I shall test it to determine the most painful way I can kill you with it," she offered.

He winced. Could no one take a joke anymore?


	13. Aug 13

_**Aug 13  
**_Experience is a hard teacher because she gives the test first, the lesson afterwards.  
**Vernon Sanders Law**

"Teamwork is key to all walks of life," the frumpy woman in the oversize bright pink knitted sweater (covered in images of what were probably her dogs, all sixteen of them) at the front of the conference room began with such enthusiasm that Leroy Jethro Gibbs wanted to vomit.

He wanted to kill Jenny for bribing him and his team to attend this seminar. Unfortunately, he also didn't want her to 'disseminate' (whatever that was) photos from Agent Wofford's wedding six months ago, during which he may have had a little too much to drink and Jenny had had a black marker to hand. But he had consoled himself with the thought that his team didn't actually need to be here, and as such he could allow them to slack off.

He tuned out her babble, watching his team. Ziva had already put her head on the desk and gone to sleep, having evidently decided that unless the seminar included an advanced explosives part she could catch up on her sleep. Tony was looking longingly at her, and trying to find the best position on his desk so he could join her in slumber.

Only McGee was trying to pay attention, and his eyelids were drooping dramatically. Gibbs gave him five minutes before he too gave up and settled down for a nap.

He glanced across the room at Abby, unsurprised to see her giving the woman ('facilitator'?) her full attention. He wondered how long it would be until she interrupted to ask a question…


	14. Aug 14

_**Aug 14  
**_What is important is to keep learning, to enjoy challenge, and to tolerate ambiguity. In the end there are no certain answers.  
**Martina Horner**, _President of Radcliffe College_

Ziva David loved learning. More specifically, she loved learning new languages.

While Tony alternately whined at her abilities and begged her to translate what a suspect was saying, she enjoyed simply having them to hand if she required them. She did not think her Hebrew was of much use in America, but neither was her French if it came to that. And her German was practically worthless over here. Perhaps someday she would have to relocate to Europe to get the most out of her skills.

Americans made her laugh. They spoke one language and struggled with that one. She was definitely not the best English-speaking person in America, but she was not the worst by far.

She had grown up in a land where three languages were spoken at all times. She would regularly start a conversation in Hebrew, switch to Arabic and end in English, or some other combination of the three. Other European languages had been spoken at home and she had happily picked them up.

Some people could not understand how she spoken so many fluently. What she did not understand was why people struggled so much – by about the third language, it was easy to pick up the main rules behind the foundation of a language and apply them to learning the next, and the next.

Today, she was going to start on Hungarian. While she doubted she would ever use it in the field, she had always been fascinated by all the consonants. Today, she was going to challenge herself to figure out why they existed in this language.


	15. Aug 15

_**Aug 15  
**_The first step in blogging is not writing them but reading them.  
**Jeff Jarvis**, _BuzzMachine, 07-10-2006_

"What are you reading?"

Timothy McGee rolled his eyes, flicked the crumbs off his head from the biscuit Tony was eating, and wondered what he should do. Ignore Tony? Switch to another window and deny everything? Answer the question?

Ignoring Tony wasn't an option. He was like a flea; once he was there, he was there and no amount of wishing could make him go away. Denying everything would just make Tony latch onto the subject and possibly suggest to Ziva, whenever she returned from her quest for Berry Mango Madness, that he had been surfing porn at work. Answering the question was the best option.

"It's a blog," he finally answered.

"I know _that_," Tony countered. "What's it about?"

"Have you lost the ability to read?" Tim checked.

"Nope. But these biscuits are so delicious and I can't eat and read. You should thank your sister for sending these – they're amazing!"

Tim made a mental note to ask his sister in the same conversation to send any and all edible gifts to his apartment rather than the Navy Yard. At this rate, he wasn't going to have any biscuits left for him.

"It's a blog about writing," he informed Tony. "Tips for overcoming block and things like that."

"Ah, you don't need that," Tony replied.

Tim opened his mouth to thank him for having such a strong opinion of his skills, but Tony continued.

"You're not a writer so you don't need tips."


	16. Aug 16

_**Aug 16  
**_There are new words now that excuse everybody. Give me the good old days of heroes and villains, the people you can bravo or hiss. There was a truth to them that all the slick credulity of today cannot touch.  
**Bette Davis (1908 - 1989)**, _The Lonely Life, 1962_

Abby Scuito loved pantomimes. They might be British, but they were full of joy and excitement, and the good guy always got the girl and the bad guy was always defeated, and sometimes she needed a little simplicity and amusement in her life.

To that end, she had persuaded Gibbs to accompany her, with much pouting and smiling. He had given in, as always. She wasn't the favorite for nothing. And he needed to be cheered up, especially after the Kaufman case last week.

She bounced up and down in her seat as she waited for the show to start. Beside her, Gibbs hunted for a safe place to put his coffee and her Caf-Pow! She opened her packet of sugary, gelatinous sweets with a sharp tug, shoving them under his nose as he sat upright and tried to find the best place for his legs.

"I'll be fine, Abs," he promised her.

She turned to face him, her face a mask of strict concern. "Did you bring something for yourself?"

He tugged a chocolate bar from a pocket. "Got my own sugar," he proved.

She nodded, content everything was ready and now impatient for the lights to go down. She was going to enjoy this.


	17. Aug 17

_**Aug 17  
**_Design is not just what it looks like and feels like. Design is how it works.  
**Steve Jobs (1955 - 2012)**

"Okay. Let's move that over there and this over to here."

Timothy McGee knew redesigning his apartment over the weekend wasn't his greatest plan. But Sarah had seen one too many home redecorating shows on the television and she wanted to tamper with his place. He didn't mind. She was his little sister, had a much better talent for making a place look habitable than him, and he could always visit Abby on Monday morning and beg or bribe her to move everything back the way it was.

As far as he could tell, her 'amazing' idea involved moving a lot of furniture around. The bookcases that used to form a kind of wall between his kitchen and his living area were all being moved to the walls to create an 'open plan'. He gave it a week before he started panicking at all the space and had to do something.

The one place he had managed to persuade her to leave fairly alone was his writing area. For obvious reasons, he didn't want to mess around with that, not least because his editor wanted two more chapters by the end of the month and deliberately allowing his muse to wander off was a very bad idea.

He'd rather knock Gibbs' coffee all over his computer than admit to Lyndi he couldn't produce any work.

"Tim?" Sarah interrupted his thoughts. "How do you feel about painting the walls?"


	18. Aug 18

_**Aug 18  
**_Doubt 'til thou canst doubt no more... doubt is thought and thought is life. Systems which end doubt are devices for drugging thought.  
**Albert Guerard**

Sometimes Jennifer Shepard wondered if her ex-partner had ever loved her. When she had learnt about his first wife and child, she had thought everything made more sense.

She had always known, from the moment she had met him, that Gibbs was a man of few words. Even so, she had accepted that he found a way to vocalize the more important things. Whether this involved shouting at his team or his partner for screwing something up, or bantering with her, or yelling obscenities at Diane's lawyer, he was less of a mute a decade ago than he was now.

He had been a lot more like DiNozzo.

Knowing he could say the little things, despite his usual preference to show his feelings with his actions, it had been three little words that had broken them up. Or rather, his inability to say three little words and his blasé reaction to her saying them. Seriously, who said 'That'll be the day' when someone confessed their love to them?

Had he ever loved her? She knew she could never be sure. Most days she doubted it, believed he had still been more in love with a dead family she could never replace. And she didn't want to come between them either.

There was no doubting in her mind that she had loved him.


	19. Aug 19

_**Aug 19  
**_And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter and the sharing of pleasures. For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.  
**Kahlil Gibran (1883 - 1931)**, _The Prophet_

Tony DiNozzo jumped on the elevator as though it was the last copter out of Saigon.

His actions had less to do with _el jefe_ currently threatening to disembowel Ziva in the squad room for using superglue on a sleeping McGee after they had both been specifically warned not to. He suspected a new Rule was in the making. But more importantly than keeping out of Gibbs' way so he didn't get injured in the crossfire or the Boss got confused and thought Tony had been involved, he had something to show Abby.

Abby loved new things. She loved amusing things. And he had seen something in the newspaper (that admittedly he had taken from the Probie's desk) that he was sure she would love.

He bounded off the elevator as it reached the requisite floor, steadfastly ignored the pounding music and burst through the door of her lab, newspaper in hand.

"Abby!" he yelled.

She whirled around, broke into a massive smile at the sight of him, and scurried over to envelope him in a bone-crushing hug.

"Tony," she squealed, using her remote to turn the volume down to a slightly more bearable level. "It's so good to see you today."

"Gibbs is in a bad mood," he warned her, before she made plans to follow him up to the squad room later and was accidently killed by an ex-marine. "But I have something to show you."

"Poor Gibbs," Abby cooed. "I'll give him an extra-special hug when he visits me later."

Tony privately felt that Gibbs was in such a bad mood that he would manage to scare even the favorite away. Nevertheless, he handed over the newspaper and watched as Abby dissolved into helpless giggles at the cartoon. If only he could cheer Gibbs up so easily.


	20. Aug 20

_**Aug 20  
**_Learning to live what you're born with is the process, the involvement, the making of a life.  
**Diane Wakoski**

Timothy McGee had always known he was different from other children his age. He had never quite been able to put his finger on it until a girl in second grade had pulled his hair and called him a nerd.

'What was wrong with being a nerd?' he had asked himself. It simply meant he studied. He liked learning new things; he picked them up easily. He had thousands of questions about the world around him and was never satisfied with a simple answer. Did that make him a nerd?

As he had grown up, he had realized the problem his peers had with him was that he was different, he was more intelligent than they were. He wasn't sure whether they felt threatened by it or they just disliked him for having the courage to be himself. Whatever it was, he had been bullied without mercy from the moment he stepped into school from the moment he stepped out.

It wasn't until he had stepped onto the hallowed ground of MIT that he had started to accept his intelligence, and not just accept it but revel in it. There he had been surrounded by others who, while not always smarter than him, at least wished to expand their horizons. For the first time, he had felt comfortable with other people.

Now he reveled in his skills. He used them to catch criminals, to trace them anywhere in the world. He had made it onto the most revered team at NCIS, with the fearless Agent Gibbs. Every day he continued to learn.

The difference was now he accepted himself as he was.


	21. Aug 21

_**Aug 21  
**_The liar's punishment is not in the least that he is not believed but that he cannot believe anyone else.  
**George Bernard Shaw (1856 - 1950)**

"You're lying."

"Prove it."

"Yeah, like anyone can ever prove it. You've probably killed anyone who knows the truth."

"I have not killed anyone for a week."

"Getting a little rusty there, my little ninja?"

"I am not your little anything. Take it back or I will kill someone today. Slowly. With this pencil."

"Jeez, Ziva. No need to get out your seat. I didn't mean it. You're a very scary Mossad assassin who could kill me with her little finger… not that that's a suggestion of any sort, just an observation."

"Better."

"Phew. You stay in that chair. No, I'm not giving you an order, don't get up! That's better. For both of us. Hey, you can't kill someone by throwing office stationary at them can you?"

"It depends where I aim the pencil."

"O-_kay_, back on topic. You are lying."

"We went over this. Prove it."

"There is no way you beat Gibbs in a sparring session last night."

"Why not?"

"Because he would have built a sniper's nest and taken you out before you could tell anyone or teach them your secrets."

"Very funny, Tony. But like you said, I am a Mossad assassin. You do not think it would be a little difficult to kill me, yes?"

"I'm not arguing _that_, I'm just saying it's impossible to beat –"

"Good morning, Gibbs."

"Morning, Boss. Oh, you're limping. Does that have anything to do with you and Ziva – OW! Thank you, Boss. Getting to work, Boss."


	22. Aug 22

_**Aug 22  
**_I feel guilty when people say I'm the greatest on the scene. What's good or bad doesn't matter to me; what does matter is feeling and not feeling. If only people would take more of a true view and think in terms of feelings. Your name doesn't mean a damn; it's your talents and feelings that matter. You've got to know much more than just the technicalities of notes; you've got to know what goes between the notes.  
**Jimi Hendrix (1942 - 1970)**

Abby Scuito knew she was an excellent forensic scientist. She knew she could provide answers where few could, and she knew she was more specialized than most forensics specialists out there.

But she disagreed when people told her she was the best.

For starters, she knew she wasn't. If she was, she would be working in a dingy laboratory on a college campus somewhere, spending all her time determining new and even more accurate and precise methods to catch criminals. She would be investigating techniques, not people. She would be paid a ton more than she was now, and have much better equipment.

Not that she begrudged her lab and her babies. She was simply happier here. She felt as though she was on the frontline, making a difference every day. She could _see_ the difference she made, when Gibbs allowed her into Observation to watch a suspect confess after she had proved he did it, or when Gibbs ran out of her lab to arrest the guilty party, or when she visited the squad room and she saw a family congratulate the team for getting justice for their loved one.

Anyway, the science was what needed to be praised. She was merely a facilitator and interpreter. Science did the work for her. Perhaps her massive workload had led her to pick up more efficient methods of working, but that didn't make her 'the best'.

Abby Scuito knew she wasn't the greatest. But that was fine by her.


	23. Aug 23

_**Aug 23  
**_We most often go astray on a well trodden and much frequented road.  
**Seneca (5 BC - 65 AD)**

"Mr. Palmer, are we lost?"

"Not at all, doctor. We are somewhere in Virginia."

"That may be a problem. I thought the crime scene was outside the FBI headquarters."

"… I thought this was a shortcut."

Ducky could not understand how his protégé got them so lost on such a regular basis. Especially when heading to somewhere like the FBI. They attended seminars there on a regular basis, for crying out loud! He knew they should have left the van and carried their equipment on the Metro.

He stared out the window, trying to determine where they were. Unfortunately, Mr. Palmer had started down a road that had rapidly turned into a dirt track approximately five minutes ago, and there were absolutely no signs of civilization. Even his cell phone had no service.

Luckily the crime scene would keep, even if the FBI tried to muscle in. A Marine in full dress uniform had been shot directly in front of their building. Even the most junior lawyer could argue it was NCIS jurisdiction.

"I really don't understand how you could have got lost in the first place, Jimmy. It's a route we take all the time. Even tourists manage to find that building every day, although I have to confess I suspect few do so from the Navy Yard. We could have just followed Jethro's car out here, or the truck. I thought Anthony was driving; while you might not be able to keep up with Jethro's version of driving, Anthony is very capable."

He continued in this vein for several minutes, scanning the surroundings as he did, wondering if they would ever find their way out of this one.


	24. Aug 24

_**Aug 24  
**_The great art of giving consists in this: the gift should cost very little and yet be greatly coveted, so that it may be the more highly appreciated.  
**Baltasar Gracian**

Ziva David smiled as McGee stepped off the elevator. She had missed her chance this morning, when Tony had been acting like a fool and prancing around the squad room. So far today, he was ahead of his record of 'Most Headslaps Accumulated In A Day'.

Unfortunately, by the time Gibbs had dragged Tony out to interview a potential witness, McGee had escaped to Abby's lab. Not willing to disturb any time between the Goth and the Geek, she had remained at her desk and continued to call every name on several sheets. Gibbs' tasks made no sense at the best of times, but she knew better than to disobey his orders.

And now Tim was back, still smiling from whatever had happened between him and Abby. Ziva smirked softly. If Tony was here, he would be making inappropriate suggestions.

As Tim sank into his seat, she rose from hers and quickly traversed the bullpen. He looked up at her, nervous she was moving so fast.

She placed the typewriter ribbons on his desk.

"I found them while I was searching for Jenny's birthday present," she informed him. "I thought they might be useful."

"Thanks, I'm running out," he replied. "Here, let me pay you back for them."

She shook her head as she returned to her seat, not willing to appear to slack off for long as Gibbs had a nasty habit of appearing at the wrong moments. "It is a gift, McGee. I shall be disappointed if you pay me."

She hid another smirk as he put his wallet away. So what if she had to playfully threaten him to accept it? He was far too generous with his own gifts, and she knew he would enjoy this one.


	25. Aug 25

_**Aug 25  
**_An old doting fool, with one foot already in the grave.  
**Plutarch (46 AD - 120 AD)**, _Morals_

Tony DiNozzo skipped merrily through the cemetery. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. Even his little ninja was silent, enjoying the day.

While he was prepared to enjoy the day, he was not looking forward to nightfall. Gibbs' gut said Corporal Russell was not in fact buried in his coffin, but whether that was because someone had stolen the body or simply misplaced it had yet to be determined. Nevertheless, the boss needed to prove it was missing before he could get a warrant to dig the grave up.

Which meant he, Ziva and McGee would be doing the manual labor tonight while the Boss held the flashlight. Not that he was complaining at Gibbs' apparent easy job – he would also be on guard to prevent them getting shot for trespassing. And lugging the equipment around was hard work and would warm them up, while _el jefe_ would freeze to death standing still.

In order to prevent them from getting lost in the dark, Gibbs had sent them on ahead to locate the correct grave in the daylight, while he and McGoo made a last ditch attempt to persuade Jenny to persuade _someone_ to allow them to dig up the coffin rather than wasting time with the ground penetrating radar. Tony doubted this would work, but it was worth a try, especially if it meant he could spend the night in his warm bed –

The ground disappeared beneath him and he fell.

Thankfully not as far as he had feared, but it had given him the shock of his life. His sadistic partner was laughing her head off on the surface.

Immediately checking the open grave for a coffin and relaxing when he realized he was not sharing with a dead person, he began to glare at her.

"Get me out of here!" he demanded.

She giggled some more. "You should have watched where you were going."

"Very funny," he snapped. "Go find a ladder."


	26. Aug 26

_**Aug 26  
**_I have a higher and grander standard of principle than George Washington. He could not lie; I can, but I won't.  
**Mark Twain (1835 - 1910)**

Abby Scuito squirmed slightly as she stood in Jenny's office. Well, perhaps it was the Director's office at the moment and she was an employee, rather than the two women being friends.

Across the desk, Jenny finally placed her pen down, removed her reading glasses from the perch on the end of her nose, and rubbed her eyes. "How can I help you, Abby?"

"It was me," the Goth confessed.

The Director looked up, blinked several times and then squinted. "_You_?"

"Yes, me."

"And what did you do?" Director Shepard inquired politely.

"You don't know?" Now Abby felt as confused as the redhead looked.

"I'm relatively confident it wasn't you who stole my lipstick and scrawled a heart on Gibbs' desk with it."

"You're right, that wasn't me." Abby was beginning to understand where the confusion lay. "That was Ziva. But I'm the one who caused the power surge and is therefore responsible for the Navy Yard currently having no power."

"Abby," Director Shepard began, but the Goth cut her off.

"I'm really really sorry about it, but it was an accident I swear! I can't lie about it so I thought I'd come up and confess as soon as I could –"

This time it was the Director who cut her off. "Abby, it was an accident?"

She nodded.

"And this accident was connected to a legitimate work project of yours."

Abby nodded again, unwilling to speak and confused that the Director wasn't exploding at her.

"Then it's not a problem."

"What do you mean?" Surely there had to be repercussions for this?

"It was an accident," Jenny soothed. "I don't mind whether it was you or someone in Cyber, but I know these things happen more often than they probably should. The power will be back on soon and no one's been hurt. Okay?"

Abby nodded, numb. She had been expecting shouting and tears on her part.

Jenny rose from her desk and walked around it. "I know it must have taken a great deal of courage to confess. Do you want a hug?"

Abby threw herself into her friend's arms. Oh, a hug was _always_ needed.


	27. Aug 27

_**Aug 27  
**_Don't be a dick!  
**Wil Wheaton**, _WWdN: In Exile Tagline_

Tony DiNozzo loved to flirt. It was practically his middle name, although Gibbs had a few suggestions for that that weren't acceptable when little ears were around.

And every woman loved to be told how amazing she was, how beautiful she looked and how spoiled she needed to be. They needed to be showered with affection, and how could he get in trouble for doing such a thing? If men complained, it was simply because they were jealous he received so much more attention than they did. If women complained, it was because they secretly enjoyed it but didn't want to admit it.

Right now, faced with the gorgeous Steph from Legal, he couldn't help but flirt. She was so… perfect.

"I bet you're the best at getting bad guys behind bars, am I right?" He shot her his most dazzling smile. "The most stylish in the courtroom, knocking 'em dead with your outfits."

She looked a little close to tears, but Tony decided they were because he was being so nice. And truthful. The woman always looked as though she had just stepped out of the pages of a magazine.

"I mean, how many heart attacks have you caused with that low cut top?"

She burst into tears. "You insensitive pig!" she yelled. "How can you say that to me when my husband had a heart attack yesterday?"

Tony decided it might be time to make a tactical retreat.


	28. Aug 28

_**Aug 28  
**_Every civilization that has ever existed has ultimately collapsed.  
**Henry Kissinger (1923 - )**

Timothy McGee loved spending time with Abby. It wasn't her friendly nature that drew him to her, although it was a huge bonus. It was their shared love for knowledge and learning.

Today, at her request, he had brought into her lab a book about the ancient Egyptians. He wasn't sure what had sparked her recent interest, especially as none of their recent cases had involved anything to do with them, but he would not stand in the way of her happiness. And not because the Boss would kill him either.

"Look at this!" she squealed. "A whole chapter on mummification! Just what I was looking for."

Tim was confused. Her landlord still wouldn't let her have any pets and she wasn't really the type to steal a dead body. Definitely not after that incident with Tony and the dead dog… He shuddered. How Ziva had managed to persuade that Metro cop not to arrest Tony was beyond him.

"Mrs. Jones' cat died," she informed him solemnly, evidently having seen the confused look in his eyes.

"Mrs. Jones? Your neighbor? The one with the evil fat cat who likes to attack my legs?" he recalled.

She punched his arm. "Mulder was not evil," she insisted. "I want to learn how to mummify him."

"You might be better off asking Ducky for help," Tim suggested as gently as he could. He had had a horrible feeling he knew what was in the box on her desk, and wanted to make the lab cat-free and thereby allergy-safe as soon as possible.


	29. Aug 29

_**Aug 29  
**_Life grants nothing to us mortals without hard work.  
**Horace (65 BC - 8 BC)**, _Satires_

Tony DiNozzo did not understand why some people worked so hard. You only live once – why waste it by slaving away over some silly paperwork that Legal would only ignore.

Far better to relax and enjoy every precious minute, something that was admittedly a little difficult when his boss was a certain ex-marine who believed in the value of hard work and no play and sleep was for sissies.

Nevertheless, he rebelled in his own way. He harassed McGee whenever he tried to keep on top of his paperwork during a case, he started food fights when they took breaks for dinner, he rigged Ziva's chair to collapse on a regular basis, and he put off every piece of work until the last possible minute. Somehow or other, he had yet to be thrown off Team Gibbs.

Today was a paperwork day. A day, granted by Gibbs, to catch up on their endless paperwork until either they died of boredom, or the Gibbs-phone rang with a case, or Ziva killed a marine to make the Gibbs-phone ring. Unfortunately, with Ziva very happily working, he felt it was more likely that he would die of boredom first. He had visited Abby and had a good giggle with her, he had spent time with Ducky and tried not to go to sleep, and he had even taken an extra long lunch break, but his day was going so slowly.

He bounced the small ball on his desk again, passing the time in a much more pleasurable way than paperwork. Bounce, catch, bounce, catch, bounce, catch. Any minute now, they would catch a case and all the Probie's hard work would be for nothing. Bounce, catch, bounce, catch, bounce, catch.

McGee suddenly got up from his desk, walked over to Gibbs' and placed a massive pile of folders on it. Then he began to gather his own belongings.

Tony stared. "What are you doing? Gibbs will kill you!"

Laughing, McSuckUp shook his head. "He said we could go home once we finished the paperwork on the Wesley case."

"But… but…" Tony stammered. "It's only sixteen hundred!"

"See you tomorrow," the Probie teased as he walked towards the elevator.

Tony groaned. He had to work? McGee was a dead man tomorrow.


	30. Aug 30

_**Aug 30  
**_Strong lives are motivated by dynamic purposes.  
**Kenneth Hildebrand**

Ziva David had always been determined to protect her country, whatever it look. It might have been a strong statement, but it had shaped her life and made her into the strong person she was today.

The only problem she now had was that she was not sure _which_ country she was supposed to protect. When she had come to America, she had been a Mossad Liaison Officer, still part of the Mossad and still tasked with defending her country. At the time, she had not realized how confusing this could be. If there was a threat to Israel and another to America, which did she deal with first? On paper, it would appear to be to protect Israel. But she lived in America, worked with Americans, had become friends with Americans. What was she supposed to do?

It had taken her longer than she would have liked to come to a decision, and even then part of her had wished she had thought about it for longer and come to the opposite conclusion. She was American at heart; everything she loved was in America. And therefore she should defend it first and Israel second.

She would always have strong ties to her homeland, she would always feel the need to protect it, she would always love it. But in America, she was accepted and loved, flaws and all, and she would protect that freedom to love and be loved until her dying day.


	31. Aug 31

_**Aug 31  
**_Virtue extends our days: he live two lives who relives his past with pleasure.  
**Marcus Valerius Martialis (40 AD - 103 AD)**, _Epigrams_

Ducky laughed as he sat in his favorite armchair. Across from him, in his living room, Jethro was trying to hide a grin in his glass of bourbon.

This had been an excellent idea. The two friends had been rushed off their feet with their jobs recently after a spate of murders. Abigail had even gone as far as to suggestion a new study needed to be commissioned into examining whether the lunar cycle was playing a role in making what appeared to be every person in the Navy go on a killing spree.

A quiet evening with a friend was needed to redress the balance. A bottle of scotch for him, bourbon for Jethro, a window in the living room cracked open to keep the air circulating, and an evening of memories.

"Ah, Lille," Ducky smiled, his laughter now under control. "Have you ever told your team about the time you managed to get lost in the back streets and then couldn't find your way back to the safehouse because you were unable to string together enough French words to ask for help?

Jethro snorted. "Like I'd ever tell them _that_."

"I still cannot believe you accepted a proposal of marriage from Marie because you couldn't understand what she was asking. Are you sure you misunderstood, or was it an automatic response to the thought of a wedding?"


End file.
